Hero
by NinjaWhisper
Summary: After a trip in space, Trunks comes to realize that maybe his father isn't as great as he always imagined. Maybe he never knew his father at all. So, who is he if he isn't his hero? (Request for Charismatic Beauty)


**Hero**

AN- This was a requested story for Charismatic Beauty, who wanted a Trunks/Vegeta focused plot.

When Trunks was small, he remembered watching his father blast robots effortlessly in the air, twisting and turning in flight. Such strength. Such power. Vegeta, his father, was the mightiest warrior in the entire universe. The sweat and blood, the agony, was all worth it to be like him- his hero. Vegeta pushed him farther and harder, but he agreed to it all because that would lead to the next level, an elevated state closer to his father.

When Trunks learned that his father was of royal blood his vision became even more rose-colored. Vegeta, the Prince of the Saiyans. He seemed to share the same pride with his father, but the pride stemmed from knowing that he came from such a great man and not from a dead race he'd never known.

At eight, Vegeta could do no wrong in Trunks' eyes. If his father was violent, there was justification. If he was in a foul mood, there was a reason. When he sacrificed himself, Trunks knew it was necessary. His dad was a hero, a true warrior, and nothing could change that.

As Trunks grew older, subtle details splashed here and there, and he found out things he wished remained hidden. His father was a murderer. His father destroyed entire planets. His father enjoyed it. At the World Martial Arts Tournament, Vegeta blasted an entire section of the crowd. Vegeta willingly turned Majin.

And yet . . . Vegeta sacrificed himself. Vegeta saved the world. Trunks' father was still a hero. Because his father changed. His father was brave, powerful, and even more of a champion to be able to conquer past conditioning. His mother explained it all to him and he understood. Trunks shared pride with his mother over his father's emotional accomplishments along with his physical feats.

Equilibrium passed for a few years. Vegeta became a stay-at-home dad who trained more for pleasure than out of duty. There was no reason to go to battle, or to wear armor. When Bra was born, Vegeta decided to take off his gloves for the first time. He stroked his infant daughter's cheek pure and open. During peace, his father could be just as much a hero. Maybe more. At least, that's what his mother said once.

Now, across the table, a fourteen-year-old Trunks wondered who his father had become. A stranger? It was as if everything he'd thought and felt about his father had gone out the window, blown away, and he was left with a fresh canvas. No, Trunks decided, it was dirty and smeared with his own emotions of betrayal.

As Trunks stared down at a white heap of mashed potatoes, a large slab of meatloaf, a side of carrots, and a yeast dinner roll on expensive china, he felt his mother's intense gaze. Bulma sat on the edge of her wooden chair, leaning over to spoon string beans from a jar into Bra's hungry mouth. By the time Bra was finished, she probably would consume at least 15 of those Gerber baby food jars. Unlike Trunks at the moment, her Saiyan appetite ran strong that evening. Her father too ate rapidly, hoarding a mountain of rolls, and occasionally dipping more mashed potatoes onto his plate.

This was the Briefs' natural scene, although Trunks normally joined in the ravish eating habits. Not tonight. Actually, he'd been pretty sparse the last few nights, hence Bulma's eye swoop in between each spoonful of green moosh.

"Are you doing all right, honey?" she asked.

Trunks halted the fork that picked at fluffy potato. He lifted his head, keeping his eyes from quite meeting hers. "I'm fine, Mom."

"Are you sick?"

"No. I'm fine."

She frowned.

Bra inappropriately made a vocal song that consisted of words mixed in with babble. "Food la la fid ba foo. Dada mama, la la ki mi, food bean la la." It made no sense whatsoever to Trunks and he wanted to bolt from the dining room.

He made a decision then to lie, even though he'd given up on the whole trickery bit with Goten about two years ago. "Actually, Mom, I think I will go lay down. My stomach feels queasy." Without waiting for a reply, Trunks bolted from the room, his father's hard stare on his back.

When he got to his room, he leaned against the closed and locked door. His room was in its normal disarray, with clothes sprawled across the room. His sword leaned sheathed against the back corner. Trunks stared at it and wondered about the other Trunks for a moment. Which was worse, not knowing his father at all, or thinking he knew his father to find out he never had?

Trunks hung his head and recalled yet again what had happened on Space Station N131. The trip into space began exciting and memorable. A renewed sense of childhood awe lit up Trunks as he saw the stars up close for the first time. Vegeta kept his arms crossed for the majority of the voyage, but occasionally Trunks thought he caught his father shooting him a smile from his peripheral vision. Even if it was his imagination, it gave him the courage to take over the ship's controls after instruction.

"Not bad, son," Vegeta said after critically reviewing his ability. Not bad? For Vegeta that was quite the praise.

They sparred on the mostly deserted Planet Uze but there were plenty of moments that were distinguishable from training. Bulma called the trip a bonding experience, and Trunks began to understand what she meant. He saw sides of his father that he'd never witnessed. When the ship made funny noises on take-off they landed again to do repairs. Trunks figured he'd have to take care of the matter himself, but it was Vegeta who pinpointed the trouble. He knew his dad was smart but he never witnessed his mental sharpness outside of battle.

Yet again, they trained on a planet named Goob. They hunted their own food and camped out. Vegeta showed him constellations that were not visible on Earth. Trunks told a stupid joke that made fun of bandits and Vegeta actually laughed, probably because it was a hidden reference to Yamcha.

For the majority of the trip, Trunks worshipped his father, the prince. And as the fire died down, Trunks lying on his back with his hands behind his head, Vegeta sitting Indian-style, words were spoken that translated into something else. "Maybe we should do this again." Vegeta's arms dropped to his sides and his mouth lifted just a smidgeon, and he didn't try to hide it. His dad wanted to spend time with him. Inside, Trunks felt warm even though the fire turned to nothing but embers.

Space Station N131 was a side stop on the way back, unplanned and spur of the moment. Trunks begged to visit it because he didn't want this 'bonding' to end. If only he'd known. He could have existed in the dream forever, even if it was an illusion.

But no, he didn't know. In innocence, he thought he could prolong the father-son activities that brought the sense of love and acceptance. For the first time, he didn't feel like he had to achieve anything or seek approval. He felt good enough, and his father seemed to have reduced the intensity of his shield.

The Space Station was more than a supply stop and more like a resort, complete with entertainment, food, a casino, and lodging. The entertainment consisted of dancing girls and at first Trunks feared his father wouldn't allow him to stay. He did, though, in agreement that it would never be shared with Bulma. Trunks found it quite amusing that Vegeta's cheeks tinged pink, even though the girls showed nothing but leg, a shake of their booty, and a bounce in their boobs.

The menu consisted of food from around the galaxy and Vegeta decided to expose his son to every main course. The station's waiters had to push three tables together to set all the plates down. Everything was perfect until there was a bit of trouble when Vegeta attempted to pay with Earth zeni. Eventually, a compromise was made, and they ended up paying a little extra for the added trouble of currency exchange.

Trunks felt giddy and lightheaded, just like the drunk tourists, even though he hadn't had any alcohol. Then the bounty hunter showed up and he was brought back down to earth.

The sound of elevated voices filtered through the vents and Trunks was jarred out of his reverie. He couldn't make out the words but it was definitely a fight that his mother might be winning. Bra began to wail and Bulma shouted something Trunks could make out. "Kami, Vegeta, are we going to scar her too!"

It made him flinch. His mother seemed to think Trunks had a terrible childhood, but really he didn't. Maybe his father wasn't the supportive, encouraging type, but he'd been there unlike Goten's father. It wasn't until recently that Trunks questioned things.

The window beckoned him. He used to sneak out all the time, but that was before Bra was born and he decided to become the mature older brother. Trunks found his legs moving on their own and he made it to the window. It would be so simple to unlatch the window and take flight. He could fly somewhere secluded, but his father would be able to sense him no matter where he hid.

Just then, there was a pounding on the door. Trunks spun around.

"Trunks, it has been three full days since I've seen you in the gravity room! I'll be seeing you in ten minutes!"

He heard his father's footsteps recede. Trunks let out a long breath. He braced himself for what was about to occur. Ever since the Space Station N131 incident, Trunks avoided his father like a cat to water. He knew it wouldn't last, and it seemed like his time was up.

He took the full ten minutes to change his clothes and tie his sneakers. Bulma caught him in the hall, about ready to put Bra down for a nap. She gave him a sympathetic look.

"What happened out there?" She bit her lip. "I'm sorry I made you go. I thought it would do you both good not harm."

Trunks shook his head. "Don't blame yourself, Mom. I thought it would be good too." And it was until . . .

He moved to the GR and stood outside the door. He may have stood there, staring at the metal handle forever, if Vegeta hadn't thrust the heavy door open. The prince was short but he had a great presence. Trunks continued to find his feet interesting.

"Get in here, boy," Vegeta commanded. "I'll be damned if I watch your training go down the drain just because you've decided to hate me."

"I don't hate you," Trunks automatically said.

He wondered when he'd become so quiet. So reserved. Not long ago he would have yelled at his father, demanded answers.

The prince frowned. He walked over to the supply cabinet and took down a pair of white gloves from the top shelf. He pulled the pair on. Gloves were training attire now. Trunks stared too long at his father's covered hands and wondered how many pairs of gloves he'd bloodied.

Vegeta turned, his face hardened with a deep frown. He crossed his arms. "Hmph. Well, something has you turning into a turtle."

Eyes wide, Trunks stared.

"Turtles have shells," Vegeta said. "And you are in one."

He couldn't deny it, so he didn't. In fact, he didn't really know what to say to his dad anymore. The words wouldn't come, or even form in his head. He wasn't sure what to even think. Vegeta was nothing but a shadow now, a vague blur.

Things would have been simple if he'd walked into 300 G's. He could handle physical pressure and a bombard of electronic lasers. He wished his father would just walk over to the control panel on the wall and shout commands. But this attempt at a conversation was difficult.

For an instance he had a sense of nostalgia; when he had such enthusiasm for training sessions or any contact possible with his father. He remembered jumping up with a fist-pump at the prospect of going out for ice-cream if he managed to dodge five robots. Or, go to the park with a shot. Or, when his father offered to buy him a video game if he could manage an increase in G's within the week. Things were simple then.

After a few moments of silence, Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose. "What is this about? You knew what I've done. You aren't stupid enough to have ignored all the talk around you over the years. You could piece it all together. So, why are you so shocked? I killed people. I destroyed billions of homes under Frieza. I found it fun. It shouldn't be big news."

"It wasn't. It isn't," Trunks said calmly.

"Hmph, so what is it then? Was it when I broke Bounty's legs? Should I have let him drag me off to prison? They would have most likely executed me. Would you have been able to explain that to your mother? To Bra?"

Trunks snapped his chin up. "No."

"I've died twice now and each time served a purpose. They were warrior deaths. I'll be damned if I be put down like a dog."

"That's not it!" Trunks said. "I don't want you to have to pay for what you've done."

"So, it is what I did to Bounty. I didn't kill him, so what is the problem? He'll mend to seek out some other baddies. He was Dratan, so it might take longer than a Saiyan for him to stand, but it won't take as long as an Earthling."

"It isn't any of that! I don't care what you did to the bounty hunter! He deserved it. He was a bastard!"

Saiyans are better at actions than words. They react with violence. So, it was no surprise that Vegeta threw a punch. Trunks swung his head to the side from the impact. It was okay. It was good actually. It gave him the go ahead to throw his own swing.

"What is it then, son? What is it?" Vegeta snarled.

Trunks continued his punches, which turned into a barrage. "You told him you weren't sorry. That you didn't regret it all. I thought you changed. That you were sorry. But you don't regret it. Even after defeating Buu . . ." Trunks' eyes were shiny with the untrustworthiness. "You were my hero, Dad. After you defeated Buu, I thought you were the greatest guy on the planet, even better than Goku. Not because you were stronger, but because you were better. A better dad. But now I see that you are nothing but an ex-con." Trunks threw another fist into the gut. "You're not a good-guy. When you die you are still going to hell."

Vegeta reached out and stopped him mid-motion. Trunks struggled a bit but then relaxed. His father's grip was firm but not biting on his shoulders. His coal-black eyes gazed straight into Trunks' cool-blue ones.

"I won't sugar-coat things. That may very well be where I end up. Because it is true that I don't regret it. I don't regret a single thing I've done."

Trunks squirmed again in protest. Vegeta's fingers tightened, and this time they hurt.

"You are a fool," Vegeta hissed. "Settle down and let me say what I need to say."

Giving up, Trunks stopped moving and Vegeta loosened his hold.

"You are a fool because you don't understand why I don't regret it. I don't regret a single thing I've done not because it wasn't wrong. It was very wrong, I know that. What I did was atrocious, and I have nightmares about it. But, if I were to relive it, I would still do the same things."

"How can you say that?" Trunks said. His breath grew shallower and quicker.

"Because I am a bad man. A selfish, bad man. And everything I've done has led to this." Vegeta paused. "I have a good home and a woman who irritates me to death but is a good match. And, I have two children that I find decent. If I hadn't joined Frieza's army I wouldn't be here now, with you. You wouldn't exist. For that reason, no, I do not regret it. Not a damn bit of it."

The words took a long time to process. What had his father actually just said?

"Billions of lives don't amount to three, but to me they do." Vegeta shook his head. "Yeah, I'll probably pay for it later. But, until my dying breath I'll do everything in my power to take care of those three. They are all that matter."

Trunks couldn't control himself. He'd conditioned himself to always stay strong in front of his father, but after all that he just couldn't do it anymore. He bowed his head and the tears came. They didn't come from sorrow, but from relief. Maybe it was true that he hadn't known his father, and the idol worship had been a distortion. But this was different from the horrible image he thought he had to replace it with.

Trunks felt a hand on his head and he blinked through the tears. He slowly came to realize that Vegeta had removed a glove, and his bare hand rested upon his lavender hair.

"It's okay, son," Vegeta said in the softest tone Trunks could ever remember.

Trunks really was Vegeta's son, because he was just as selfish. He was smart enough to piece together that his father protected Earth to only save three lives. Out of billions, three were all that mattered. This reasoning was distorted and wrong.

Still, Vegeta was Trunks' hero, and it seemed like that wouldn't change.


End file.
